


A Chained Melody

by MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, First Time, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: She was wearing a gauzy dress that fluttered over her sinewy muscles, covered in the burnished silver bells, chains and coins customary to the region. The tinkle of the bells and coins echoed her every move.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dispatch22705](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dispatch22705/gifts).



> Thank you to @olderbynow for proof of concept and @meldanya for her wonderful advice (that I mostly took) and her mad editing skills
> 
> This is a sensory experiment of a post series three reunion. Phryne' costume is almost a character unto itself. I hope you enjoy it.

She heard her before she saw her. Instead of the click clack of kitten heels against London cobblestones, there was a soft jingle of metal as it skimmed across flesh. Everything in this exotic locale seemed musical. She felt that the music would be the thing she would remember most once she and Miss Fisher returned to Melbourne. The sounds and the constant smell of incense made her think of the high holy days at church and, if she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the rustle of the stiff ceremonial robes of Father O’Leary.

Dot’s eyes snapped open as the jingling changed from a steady rhythm to a gentle flutter. 

“Are you well, Dot?” 

Dot blushed, not only because she had been caught daydreaming but because Miss Fisher was now standing before her in an outfit that appeared to be more coins and chains than fabric.

“Oh, yes, Miss. I guess I was doing a bit of daydreaming that's all. You look stunning Miss, but I’m curious, is this really all of the costume? Is there another piece I should be looking for?”

Phryne Fisher let out a throaty chuckle at Dot’s hesitant reaction. Her laughter sent the bells and coins in motion and a cascade of notes rippled through the air. “Absolutely! Just over there on that divan.” 

Dot felt momentarily relieved until she picked up the item and handed Miss Fisher what was only a very sheer yet elaborately embroidered veil. Dot tried to hide her continued embarrassment by focusing on the details of the veil. “The needlework is really quite spectacular in this country.” 

“It really is, Dot! You know, I did see a beautiful bit of embroidered cloth in a delicious dusty rose that would look lovely on you. Maybe we should pick up a bolt and see what you come up with when we return to Melbourne? I am absolutely taking home the cloth I spotted in indigo. I can’t wait to see what Mme Fleuri does with it!”

“Oh Miss, the indigo dye here is quite extraordinary. I am not sure about this sort of sheer cloth for me though. I don’t know where I would wear it. Hugh and I don’t have many fancy parties to attend.”

Dot continued to run her fingers over the delicate threads of the veil as she spoke. She could almost hear her sister Nell’s voice – Lola’s voice, she had to keep reminding herself it was Lola now. Lola would remind her that she was a married woman and allowed to have something nice for the boudoir. 

Phryne swooped over, and Dot allowed her to steer them to the plush divan. She suspected Miss Fisher might have a similar perspective to Lola. Dot let Phryne grasp her hands in her own and tried to look her in the eyes. “Dot dear, I think you could make a lovely peignoir set for yourself with a fabric like that. After all, we are returning home to your husband.” Dot could feel the heat inflaming her cheeks. “That special tea we purchased yesterday should make you a bit less nervous about accepting your husband’s romantic advances, Dot. I mean, you do desire him, yes?”

Dot’s blush deepened, and she let her eyes drop, suddenly very intent on examining something on her sleeve. The tea purchase had both comforted and scandalized her by equal measure. She didn't know how she could ever bring it up in confession. And could she even tell Hugh she had it? She wasn’t sure what Protestants had been taught about things like that but Hugh, bless his heart, had been trying to follow the Catholic rules since he converted. And Father O’Leary would definitely not approve of that sort of tea, or any other family planning. She knew that down to her core. 

Although, if it meant they could have marital relations more often she suspected Hugh might come around to the tea idea. Both of them seemed to struggle with the approved church method. Not for a lack of record-keeping, Dot’s notes on the calendar were meticulous, but she also knew perfectly well that her brother Thomas had been “one of God’s miracles” using that method.

“Of course, Miss! Hugh is so handsome, kind, and strong. And I do love kissing him, very much! And I do want to have a family with him. A sweet, precious baby of our own. Just maybe not quite yet.”

“Dot, the tea is effective but by no means foolproof. Not even my internal device is 100% guaranteed, but we’ve already discussed that option and I know you are not ready for something like that. Although, never forget that Mac will help you order one whenever you like. You needn’t have to let anyone know besides Mac. Either way, that still leaves room for _divine_ intervention. So, you shouldn’t feel the least bit guilty.”

She could see her employer had more thoughts on the matter. She had hoped that Miss Fisher wouldn’t dwell too much on what Dot had said, but the way Phryne’s eyes narrowed, told her that she was instead warming to the topic. “Dot, do you enjoy being with Hugh beyond kissing?” 

Dot pulled away and couldn’t look anywhere but the fine marble flooring. “Miss! Yes, of course, sort of, I mean it no longer hurts now. Oh! I don’t know if I can talk about this.” Phryne leaned forward and gently pulled Dot’s face towards her. Dot knew she could see the tears welling in her eyes and despite willing them to stay in place, one finally escaped down her cheek.

“Dot, I know it is a bit awkward because I know and adore you both, but if not me, who? Have you chatted with Alice? Or, Lola?”

“That’s just it Miss, Alice and the other girls I know, all have rather lukewarm thoughts on um...intimacy. And, well I am not sure either. I do love Hugh, so very much. And I love kissing him and the way he holds me, and curling up with him at night is wonderful. He makes me feel beautiful and safe, and all of those wonderful things that a proper husband should. And he is so very handsome and strong. But, while I enjoy making sure he’s, um satisfied, I just don’t know about the rest of it. Only you and Nell, I mean Lola, seem to truly enjoy it, Miss.” 

“Oh Dot. Months ago, I gave Hugh a special book,” Phryne ignored Dot’s wide-eyed response. “I wonder why he hasn’t shared it with you, I wonder if I shouldn’t get you your own copy.”

“A book, Miss? What sort of book?!”

“It’s a book that talks about the art of lovemaking, Dot. There so many wonderful ways to explore your partner and for them to do the same. The eastern cultures have been documenting and illustrating the art of lovemaking for centuries. Not unlike those figures we saw carved into that temple.”

“Oh!” Dot blushed anew remembering the temple and just how close she had been examining the carved figures when Miss Fisher explained what they were doing. “You gave Hugh a book that included illustrations like that?! But, why?” 

“Well, it started because of the chapter on kissing. He really hasn’t showed it to you?”

“I think Hugh may have been trying to do some of those things. But Miss, I didn’t understand what he wanted me to do and they seemed so … unchristian! And now I’ve been gone for weeks. Oh no!” Dot felt so embarrassed that she had misinterpreted Hugh’s attentions. She had so many questions but before she could ask them all a knock interrupted them.

“Miss Fisher, I hate to intrude, but you had asked to see Inspector Robinson when he returned to the palace. He is newly returned and is speaking with the Sultan now. I can take you to them.”

“Finally! Oh Dot, we might have to revisit this topic another time. But please, don’t worry. We’ll get this all sorted before we get you back to Melbourne. I think you should run back to the bazaar right now and find that fabric! We’ll create a proper plan of action, I promise!” 

Dot knew that they would have to return to their conversation another time. It had been months of waiting and a week of frantic concern for Miss Fisher once the news had reached them about Jack’s injuries.

“Of course, Miss! I am sure the Inspector is dying to see you too.” 

It wasn’t until the words had left her lips that she realized how inappropriate they were. Fortunately, Miss Fisher only momentarily paused before shaking it off, filling the room with the clamor of her coins, before striding from the room to find the Sultan and Jack. 

Dot took a deep breath and let herself get lost in the diminishing reverberations left floating in the air as Miss Fisher quickly fled the room, to finally reunite with her inspector. Dot let herself fall back on the overstuffed pillows of the divan. She stared up at the ornate ceiling and began imagining the lingerie she’d make from the dusty rose fabric Miss Fisher spotted in the market, pondering her own constabulary reunion in Melbourne. 


	2. Chapter 2

He heard her before he saw her. Instead of the click clack of her kitten heels against the streets of Melbourne, there was the soft chink of metal as it skimmed across flesh. Jack was excited and nervous to see her. He hadn’t made it all the way to London to reunite with her. They’d only exchanged a few letters, a couple of telegrams and one interrupted phone call since that kiss on the airfield. Now, here they were, together again. He adjusted the cane in his hand. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed him; it wouldn't take long for the flesh wound to heal.

If he had harbored any doubts about who was approaching, he began to recognize the exotic notes of her French perfume: rose, jasmine, lily of the valley. Other women surely wore the scent, but Jack would forever think of it as _hers_. 

When she entered the room, he could feel the hard lines and edges of his face soften and melt. Or maybe that was just his heart. He had known he loved her when he had stepped on the steamer to follow her. Well, he’d known months before then, but just how foolishly in love with her he was had hit him square in the chest as he embarked on the uncertain journey to follow her. 

But that was weeks ago. Their friendship was deep, and their partnership surefooted; however, a romantic relationship was new and delicate. Uncharted territory for two seasoned hearts. And now here she was, standing before him and he felt frozen in place. She was wearing a gauzy dress that fluttered over her sinewy muscles, covered in the burnished silver bells, chains and coins he had seen on various women of the Sultan’s family since his arrival. She was like Scheherazade coming for her king on the 1001st night. Her walk was all confidence, the sway of her hips hinting at ancient secrets, and the look on her face? Tentative hope. 

Yet the slight clouds darkening her sky-blue eyes took him aback. Jack hadn’t entertained the idea that she might be nervous to see him as well.

After all, this was Phryne Fisher, who had waltzed with princes, dismantled crime rings, and wrestled with criminals in hand to hand combat. What was it for her to start a romance with a stuffy divorced inspector from Melbourne? But here she was, not so much shy as cautious, like someone approaching a wounded bird.

The metaphor seemed more than appropriate and brought a small upward twist to his lips. After all, the times he had pulled back or hesitated to accept her amorous invitations had been in protection of his pride as much as his heart. Is it any wonder she’d be vigilant about moving too quickly now?

As if reading his thoughts, her lips spread in a smile. “Hallo Jack! You know, when I said that my father was the least of your worries, I didn’t intend for that to be quite so literal.”

“That’s a relief, Miss Fisher. There were admittedly times over the past few days I had begun to have my doubts.”

_A smart gambit Miss Fisher. We tangoed with words long before we learned to waltz._ He felt his breathing relax, unaware that he’d been bracing himself for her greeting. To know that what had been conveyed in their correspondence since she left Melbourne was real.

Jack wanted nothing more than to reach out to her and close the gap between them, but his cane managed to keep him tethered to where he stood that’s what he told himself at least. He wanted nothing more than to feel her in his arms and once again feel the satin of her lips against his own. But while he was feeling more on solid ground now, he was still not quite ready to cross the final threshold. Instead, he willed her closer with his eyes. Begging her to do what he could not.

It wasn’t until the small cough nearby that Jack remembered they were not yet alone. Jack snapped back into the moment and out of the orbit of her warm musk and cool eyes. He cleared his throat to speak as it had suddenly gone dry.

“Miss Phryne Fisher, I believe you have already made the acquaintance of our generous host, Sultan Hamadi.”

Phryne turned towards the direction Jack indicated and as far as Jack could tell, without seeming to skip a beat. She extended her hand and curtsied. “Yes, and again, I cannot thank you enough your Highness for your hospitality while Jack recovers. Besides, it has been a delight to chat with someone who knew Jack during the war, much less a member of the monarchy. Jack had led me to believe _I_ was the only one who had mingled with politicians and royalty, he never let on that he had such marvelous friends overseas.”

Jack flashed her a look to let her know he was aware of the small dig at his drunken speech that fated evening in her parlor that was echoed when they waltzed. A nod to their colorful pasts, and the “old friends” that had populated them.

“You are more than welcome. I had heard so much about you, I could not believe my good fortune when our paths became intertwined. But, as much as I would love to chat, we have a saying here, ‘Do not weaken the attention of him who is occupied.’ And my dear friends, you are quite occupied with each other. We shall all catch up like old friends at dinner this evening.”

He smiled wide and gave them a wink before sailing out of the room. 

And there they were, alone. Completely, alone. 

Jack found himself staring at the vision before him. He had seen her in a bathing costume ~~,~~ twice. He had glimpsed her almost completely nude body on two separate, but memorable, occasions. And then there was the Sarcelle painting of a young, nude, and seemingly ravished Phryne on that moth-eaten settee.

But that was before.

Before the idea of a _them_. Before, when their relationship was more about the art of the tease and a friendship that had always hinted at so much more. It had evolved slowly, sometimes awkwardly, dismantling their weathered veneers built up over the years. 

Jack had loved Rosie, and in many ways still did. But the youths who had defied the class barrier to marry didn’t recognize each other after the war. Jack never felt he could burden Rosie with the horrors he had seen and done. And he had been unable to articulate what he needed, so he had retreated to save them both. From what, he no longer knew. 

With Phryne he never had that worry. He had long harbored the theory that it was their mutual darkness that attracted them to each other as much as the physical chemistry. Jack had been married to a beautiful woman and always been flattered at the occasional advances women made toward him, and Phryne was unquestionably gorgeous. But it hadn’t been her beauty alone that took his breath away. It was the way she had coaxed him out of his personal purgatory. It was the way she never backed down from a challenge – from him, or the police commissioner, or society. It was the fact that she had pushed and nudged him back to life, but never pushed him to go farther or sooner than he was willing. She had left space for him to take the steps toward living, towards her, at his own pace.

Romantic overtures had been made on both sides, it was beyond time to make the next step.

Jack swallowed and moved to close the gap between them.


	3. Chapter 3

She heard him before she saw him. Instead of the click clack of his leather oxfords against the streets of Melbourne, there was the syncopated rhythm of him striding forward with his cane. The rustle of his crisp linen suit was light and sharp compared to his usual gabardines and tweeds.

As he entered her room, she had planned to give him a look of seduction to match her diaphanous clothing, but seeing him there, pausing to lean against his cane, made Phryne breathless. Her eyes softened as her lips parted, not unlike her heart so many weeks ago on a parquet floor in a faded ballroom, opening to make a bit more space for him. She had known she loved Jack when she told him to follow her standing on the airfield, but at this moment, the depth of her feelings enflamed her from the inside out. 

And now, they were finally alone to do something about it.

She had draped herself across the foot of the enormous bed in her room. Thankfully, the rooms of this mansion were so large that even though Dot’s room was adjoining hers there was quite a bit of space separating them. Phryne couldn’t bear any more distractions or interruptions. 

The need to consummate this next stage of their relationship was becoming all-consuming. Their looks across the table during meze had been smoldering. Their banter during the entrees electric; by dessert they were ignoring everyone else. It was no great surprise when their understanding host decided that he would take this evening to show Dot the elaborate Senet board built into the gardens and teach her how to play. 

She hadn’t wanted a man this deeply in a long time, perhaps ever. This was more than a physical dalliance: this was Jack.

He ambled across the room towards her. She cocked her head at him, questioning. Jack shook her off with a slight shake of the head and small uptick of his lips. He wanted to come to her. Phryne understood; these final steps were his to take. His eyes never left hers. She could see the certainty in his piercing blue eyes. They both wanted the same thing right now, and that was each other.

Phryne felt a shiver of anticipation rush over her skin and down into her core. He stopped in front of her. She raised herself up to her knees, the tinkle of the bells and coins echoing her every move. As she rose up on the bed, her veil fell open to reveal that the bells, coins, and chains were all she was now wearing. 

Phryne’s eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips. It was a soft but deliberate kiss, strong and sure. His lips teased hers until they parted, their tongues caressing and languidly exploring each other’s mouths. Phryne was taken aback by his pace; after all, they had almost a year of foreplay leading up to this moment. But she found herself enjoying the chance to savor every gentle stroke of his long fingers and the taste of him in her mouth. 

When they broke apart to catch their breath, she reached out to him with both hands. With one she interlocked her fingers in his. Then, she caressed the hand holding the cane before plucking it away and letting it fall to the ground. Phryne made sure Jack was steady before sliding her hand up to loosen his tie. 

She felt a shiver of pleasure as Jack inched his long fingers across her waist, down her torso, and rested them on her backside. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of his cool cotton shirt. Phryne was surprised to find her fingers trembling by the third button. She slid her fingers up his broad shoulders, up his neck and settled along the soft velvet of the back of this head. She leaned forward, running her lips along his newly exposed flesh, drinking in the delicious mix of pine, juniper and myrrh that enhanced his natural essence. It suited him. She loved seeing the trail of her lip paint along the amber of his chest and neck. Weeks on a ship and then convalescing in the luscious gardens of this mansion had darkened him several shades. It suited him.

Jack leaned over, falling into harmony with her kisses by trailing his lips and tongue along her clavicle and up her neck. She giggled softly as he discovered the sensitive spots along her neck. The giggles turned into soft moans as he adjusted his ministrations. Phryne loved being discovered by Jack Robinson.

She hated to lose the contact even briefly, of his hands, but the need to touch him was growing within her. After a few false starts, he was apparently reluctant to lose contact with her as well, she was finally able to finish unbuttoning his shirt, untucked it, and slid it from his shoulders.

Phryne couldn’t help but gasp when she realized Jack wasn’t wearing a singlet or a union suit. His lean muscles and broad shoulders were finally revealed to her in their entirety. She saw the small smirk of satisfaction dance across his lips at his ability to surprise her. His quiet confidence sent a wave of arousal to her core yet she didn’t want him too pleased with himself either, so she dropped her head to one of his nipples and swept her tongue across it. It was Jack’s turn to gasp and he rewarded Phryne for her impishness with a low moan.

Phryne relished the feel of the now warmed gossamer fabric of the veil as Jack slid it across her flesh, the delicate fibers sending a wave of tingles across her skin. She smiled as she realized it really was better when Jack did it with his teeth.

Finally, naked before each other, the only thing that remained between them was electricity and promise. And as they tumbled against the soft cotton sheets, the small quartet of coins attached to her arm softly heralded their union. 

***

They heard them before they saw them. Instead of the tap tap of knuckles against the station’s office door, there was the staccato clink of metal as the coins skimmed across flesh. Her flesh. His flesh. It was a simple rhythm to contrast their complex and unfinished duet. But it was their rhythm and it was beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt:  
> 


End file.
